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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25835449">Up Against</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaela/pseuds/Jaela'>Jaela</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Awkward Virgin Sakusa, Feelings Realization, M/M, Masturbation, Rivalry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:49:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>998</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25835449</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaela/pseuds/Jaela</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s lying on his back in bed, fresh out of the bath, when it all changes.</p><p>Wherein one Sakusa Kiyoomi gets familiar with some confusing feelings, and his own hand.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>UshiSakuWeek 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Up Against</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, I heard it's UshiSaku week? This isn't really for any of the prompts, but this was sitting in my phone notes half-finished for a while... so I figured this was as good a time as any to finish it up and post it.<br/>I fell head-first into this ship a while ago, because people falling in love for very stupid reasons like HAND-WASHING ETIQUETTE is wonderful.<br/>Mind the tags, and have fun!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He’s lying on his back in bed, fresh out of the bath, when it all changes. His mind flashes over the recent Miyagi practice match—the new rotation Coach had decided to try out. Watching from the back row after his first serve, itching to be up front instead, but allowing himself to take in as much as possible before the real pressure is on. He watches and catalogues it all away: where the opponents’ focus strays. How quickly they react. The way they move around the pillar of their team—ah. And that’s where his </span>
  <em>
    <span>own</span>
  </em>
  <span> focus strays, traitorous, to zero in on the easy flow of Wakatoshi-kun‘s muscles as his body twists just slightly to the side at the height of his jump. Sakusa registers, of course, the angle of his hand and that mean southpaw spin he puts on the ball that has Iizuna-san scrambling frantically to touch it at all. But the majority of his consciousness, for a frustrating moment or two, follows the line of Wakatoshi’s arm as it descends, and from there his gaze is easily taken to sturdy thighs, the impact as his feet touch the ground again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t like Sakusa to lose focus. But he had, for long enough that he was late in reacting to the ball hurtling to his side of the court again—he just barely judges that it’s going to hit out of bounds. A merciful lucky point. But if it had been in, he would have missed it. In the moment, he had sucked his teeth in frustration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the present, he finds his attention diverted again. This time much more viscerally, with a force that makes his breath catch in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah. He’s hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brows furrow, the rest of his body very still for a long moment. It’s not as though he was completely unaware that he felt... something. Respect and admiration. Fascination, maybe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows, and slowly trails his fingertips across one hipbone, and stops just short of where the fabric is tented, breathing shallow and cautious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels like holding floodgates at bay. One step at a time, he lets himself just peek into this particular corner of his mind. He’s aware of Wakatoshi-kun. For more than just his skill and the challenge he poses to Sakusa on the court. He’s aware of the prominent, hard features of his face, sculpture-like and imposing. The deep, rich tone of his voice. His broad shoulders and chest, and the way his jersey stretches across them. And those thighs... why can’t Sakusa stop thinking about his thighs?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t even notice at first that his hand has moved and he’s touching now, lightly palming himself through his shorts. Another flash in his memory—the force with which Wakatoshi-kun spikes a ball. What if, with that same force, he slammed his palm against a wall just beside Sakusa’s head, crowded into his space and pinned him there? Sakusa gasps, then clamps his lips tightly together to hold back his voice. The image in his mind blurs, only to come back even more vivid.... Sakusa’s back against the wall, his chest just touching Wakatoshi-kun’s. He’d be able to feel the heat radiating off of his body, and maybe breathe in that intoxicating scent Sakusa just barely catches a hint of when they meet at the net.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows, and his head swims, dizzy with sudden heat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his fantasy, at least, he doesn’t have to worry about cleanliness or the stale smell of sweat after a match. Wakatoshi-kun can still be wearing that jersey that fits him so well, and his mouth can be just as immaculate as everything else about him when it presses against Sakusa’s, hot and wet.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He shoves his shorts down his hips, and takes himself in hand. All semblance of restraint is gone. And perhaps worst of all, it’s only a kiss—not </span>
  <em>
    <span>even</span>
  </em>
  <span> a kiss, but a pale imagining of one—that has him bucking into his hand with strained desperation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps Wakatoshi-kun would kiss his neck, too. Sakusa would feel hot breath washing over his skin, calloused hands sliding up under his jersey, kneading into his skin... if Wakatoshi-kun hummed, that deep voice of his might vibrate all the way to Sakusa’s core.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blood pounds in his ears, almost loud enough to drown out his own gasps. In his imagination, Wakatoshi-kun’s hand would feel so much better than his own. Broad fingers, as bold and unflinching as the rest of him. There would be no hesitation. No mercy. He would stay steady and grounded as he took Sakusa apart at the seams, the way Sakusa would never allow anyone else to even try.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finishes all too quickly, before his fantasy can even play as far as the </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> interesting parts. Not that he has much to back them up with, anyway, by way of experience. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach turns a little. Perhaps from the shame of pulling the object of his admiration into this little scenario without his knowing or permission—or else, maybe just from the mess he now has to clean up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cleaning, at least, is straightforward and methodical. It has logical steps and processes in precisely the way matters of the heart do not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the same, once he’s clean and wearing a fresh change of clothes, Sakusa pulls out a pen and the pad of paper he usually uses for to-do lists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand stalls over the blank sheet for the longest time, and finally he gives up and shoves it away again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cannot, perhaps, tackle this with his usual methods. There are no neat lists with bullet points for each stage of falling in love, and coming to be loved in return. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seems mysterious, convoluted. Damn near impossible. The kind of challenge that barely leaves a person room to breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hint of a smile quirks up the corners of Sakusa’s mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t have it any other way.</span>
</p>
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